Candy Shop - Day 28

 Rolos

Some conflict sowed the football pitch

with mines, long enough ago

that grandkids of belligerents

are schoolmates, allowed to hell around

anywhere but the field of skulls

stenciled anywhere that holds a post.

Every year in class they spend a morning

with glossy snaps of bombs, wagging

cautionary folktales of the boy

who slipped past the red blazes,

tried to pick up the olive tiffin.

The students wince as reverence

demands, but secretly each ranks

ordnance by how much it resembles

sweets.